from town he restrained the urge to lean forward and gallop all the way home. He wouldn’t find any sense of peace and release until he could shed his Sunday-go-to-town clothes for jeans and chaps, and ride out on the prairie. He’d wished for a different outcome to his trip though in the back of his mind he knew the futility of hope. Had known, he supposed, from the first, but he had fought it. Perhaps if he’d accepted it from the beginning, made the necessary changes, all this would have turned out differently.
He sighed and settled back into the saddle, letting the rhythm of riding and the familiar scents and sights of the open prairie soothe his troubled mind.
Unbidden, unwelcome, his thoughts turned back to his recent train ride.
He’d noticed the girl the minute he got on the train—her hair trailing in damp disarray from the roll coiled about her head, her bonnet askew as the baby batted at it, her brown eyes both weary and patient. When he sat facing her he saw how her smiling brown eyes darted about, taking in everything. He admired her for coping with the fussy little girl, for smiling and nodding politely when the other passengers complained of the noise.
But the way she peered out the window in awe brought such a surge of heat to his brain, he’d seen stars. He wanted to tell her, yup, that’s what most of Dakota Territory was like—flat, endless prairie. Great for cows and horses. Deadly for women.
He’d studied her. Held her gaze steadily when she glanced his way. In that moment he’d felt something promising, even hopeful as if she dared him to venture into the unknown with him.
Just remembering that fleeting sensation made him snort. “I guess I’ve learned my lesson,” he muttered to the silent prairie and uninterested horse. This was no place for a woman. He’d told her so then marched away without giving her a chance to reply.
A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Her eyes had fired up a protest. She’d sputtered. Would have argued if he’d given her opportunity. If he hadn’t learned his lesson a little too well he might have paused long enough to see her let off steam. Instead he marched away. Heard her words of protest follow. Had to steel himself not to turn and satisfy his desire to see how she looked all het up.
For a moment he wondered at her destination. He knew most people from the area who did business at Buffalo Hollow. Hadn’t heard of anyone expecting a visitor. From what he’d overheard the woman explain to the conductor, this was more than a visit. She’d said something about joining an uncle. He’d heard her mention the child’s father dying from a fever and guessed she was a widow.
He shrugged. He’d not see her again, of that he was certain. He only hoped she’d heed his words of warning and leave this country before it destroyed her.
The thoughts he’d been trying to avoid all afternoon flooded his mind, tearing up his plans, his dreams, his future. He’d known it was coming but had refused to accept it. But today had been final. The words left no room for doubt or hope. At twenty-five years of age, he, Burke Edwards, knew his future would take a different shape than the one he’d had in mind when he headed West three years ago with big ideas and bigger dreams.
The ranch came in sight. The house was intended to provide a home for a growing family. It would not happen now. Or ever. The house was only partially finished. He’d intended to extend it further to create a large front room where he and his growing family would gather in the dusk of the evening and enjoy each other’s company. He figured there would be a woman in a rocking chair knitting or mending, he in another chair reading the paper or making plans for the future and someday, children at his feet or on his lap. Knowing it would never happen didn’t make it easy to push those imaginations into the distance, never to be revisited.
Guess he’d known what the final outcome would be because he had abandoned all pretense of work on the house several months ago. It no longer bothered him that it looked forlorn and neglected. He would probably never complete it. No need to. It was adequate for his purposes.
He reined back to study the place and analyze his feelings. Shouldn’t he feel something besides disappointment that there was no reason to finish the house? Shouldn’t he be mourning the fact he and Flora would never marry?
“Guess I’ve known it for a long time. I’ve just been going through the motions of asking, waiting, hoping because I knew that’s what I should do. But you know what, horse? I expect I’m happy enough to let it go. In some ways it’s better that it is over and final.” Still he couldn’t quite shake a sense of failure. He should have walked away from the ranch when he’d seen how Flora felt about it. He didn’t need her parents pointing out that her present condition and her current incarceration in the insane asylum was due, in no small part, to his failure to do so.
He flicked the reins and rode into the yard, turning toward the barn. He dropped to the ground. “Lucky,” he called to the squat little man hanging around the corrals, wielding a pitchfork. The man was past his prime, one leg all gimped up from an accident. But he was handy around the place and had proven to be a loyal friend. “Look after my horse.”
“Okay, Boss.” He dropped the fork and sprinted over to take the reins. “Good trip, Boss?”
“Glad to be home.”
Lucky chuckled. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say.”
“What’s new around here?” He’d only been away two days but it felt like a month.
“Nothing, Boss. Though Mac said he thought the spring over to the west was drying out.”
“I’ll ride over tomorrow and check.”
“And the mosquitoes been awful bad. I’m about to start a smudge over past the barn for the horses.”
“I’ll do it.” Burke welcomed the chance to be out in the open doing something mindless and undemanding. He didn’t want to think of Flora or his failures. He smiled as he recalled the look on the young woman’s face as he warned her this territory was too tough for a woman, then he shook his head.
He didn’t want to think about her, either.
His restlessness returned with a vengeance matching the vicious prairie winds. “Lucky, throw my saddle on another mount. I’ll ride out and have a look at things.” He strode to the house with an urgency that had no cause and quickly changed into his comfortable work clothes. He paused long enough to build the smudge, smeared some lard on the back of his neck to protect himself and rode into the wide open spaces where a man could enjoy forgetfulness.
Forgetfulness was all he sought—all he needed.
Jenny jolted to one side as the buggy bounced along the trail. She feared little, hadn’t blinked when caring for Meggie’s parents in their final days. Nor had she felt anything but a trickle of excitement at the task they had given her before their death—deliver their child to her new guardian. But trepidation gnawed into her bones as the miles passed. She’d soon have to meet Lena’s brother and his wife and inform them of Lena and Mark’s deaths, then turn Meggie over to their care.
Jenny smiled at the child in her arms. It was appreciably cooler riding in the open buggy and Meggie had fallen asleep. She loved this little girl. It would be a wrench to leave her.
“How much farther?” she asked the man she’d hired to take her to the ranch in the far corner of the Dakotas.
“Lookee there and you can see the buildings in the distance.”
She
